Pacifica Military History Free Sample Chapters.pmd

Free Sample Chapters 395
would take us across the Adriatic and over the Yugoslavian coast just
west of Split. After crossing the coastal mountains, we would pass almost
over Zagreb, in the plain of Croatia. The very large and unmistakable
Lake Balaton would lie in the distance to the east, in Hungary. Much
nearer, almost beneath our track, would be the city of Graz, Austria,
only a scant 75 miles from Wiener Neustadt.
The takeoff and join-up were routine. As the group climbed
northward over the sea, I had ample opportunity to look around. Fortyeight
airplanes plus six spares made a formidable force and took up a
good part of the sky. I was glad that I was a part of it instead of having
to look at it from an Me-109 or FW-190 cockpit.
Up near the Yugoslavia-Austria border, bogies were called out at
one o’clock, slightly below. This time, I got a good look and saw about
twelve Me-109s passing from one o’clock toward three, fairly close. As
the squadron started to turn into them, Johnson let go his tanks, cut
sharply inside our lead flight, and started down after them. I just had
time to sneak a look at our lead flight on the outside as I rolled to follow
Johnson. I was horrified to see the rest of the squadron turn back to the
original heading, leaving us hung out to dry. I shot a glance back at
Johnson. He was already getting away from me, turning in a tight vertical
bank and closing rapidly on a 109. I pulled it in as hard as I could. But
if I was to stay with him, I knew I was going to have to keep reefing it
in. The 109s on the outside of us, which Johnson was expecting the lead
section of the squadron to engage, could easily drop in behind us. But I
figured that while pulling four or five g’s, I was relatively safe. Hauling
back on that stick for all I was worth and in a semicrouch, I was tightening
my stomach muscles—tightening all my muscles—trying to hold my
head up against the vicious, unrelenting force of magnified gravity. I no
longer knew if I was in the same piece of sky as Johnson; the positive
g’s were draining the blood from my head and I was sightless. After
another second or two, I eased the back pressure on the stick until I got
some vision back, hoping Johnson would still be in front of me. No joy.
That part of the sky was empty. At eight o’clock, a mile or two away, I
saw a parachute. A good bit closer, two aircraft were coming at me.
They had no deep central air scoop but two flat, shallow radiators under